


I Never Intended to Rescue You

by mickeylovesian



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 02:00:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1287043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeylovesian/pseuds/mickeylovesian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Ian is diagnosed Bipolar, Mickey and him have a conversation.  </p>
<p>Takes place some time after 4x07.  Some mention of spoilers for future episodes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Never Intended to Rescue You

**Author's Note:**

> “I’m an outlaw, not a hero. I never intended to rescue you. We’re our own dragons as well as heroes, and we have to rescue ourselves from ourselves.” Tom Robbins, Still Life With Woodpecker
> 
> "and first you decide what you’ve gotta do then you go out and do it and maybe the most we can do is just to see each other through it" Ani DiFranco "Hour Follows Hour"

It took a few weeks, but they were finally able to convince Ian that he needed help. Mickey felt relief wash over him the morning when Debbie came down with the news. He was at the kitchen table eating his breakfast and talking with Carl, something he had been doing ever since Svetlana had kicked Ian out of his house. He hadn’t been home for more than a few hours since, and although he was still shocked that he was there, he knew that until Ian got the help he needed there was no where else he would be. 

“He said he would talk to someone. Do they have psychiatrists at the free clinic?” Debbie asked, sitting in the seat across from Mickey.

“I doubt it. Thought you guys got insurance?”

“Well we did, but everything with Fiona,” She didn’t go on and Mickey understood. He knew that the Gallagher’s had dealt with a lot of shitty things in their lives, but with Ian’s current state and Fiona back in jail for violating her parole, this seemed to top them all.

“So how is Ian going to pay?” Carl asked, picking up Mickey’s knife and flipping it open. Mickey allowed him to stab the table a few times before reaching for it. 

“I got some money.”

“Really?” Debbie asked, staring at him with a shocked expression. As strange as Mickey felt in the Gallagher house, he always wondered how the Gallagher’s themselves felt about his presence. They hadn’t asked many questions when he showed up with a duffle bag of clothes. In fact, it had been Debbie who had opened the door, grabbed his bag and offered him a beer. 

“Yeah,” he said. He didn’t add that he couldn’t help but think this was his fault. Deep down he knew it wasn’t; if there was something seriously wrong with Ian, beyond a drug problem, Mickey knew it had only been a matter of time until the levees broke, but he certainly had added to the pressure. 

“I’ll call Lip and tell him to find someone who will take cash,” Debbie said, getting up. Mickey smiled; he had grown to respect the girl over the past few weeks. At only 13 she could get shit done; it was her, not Mickey, not even Lip, who had been able to talk sense into Ian, after all.

 

It took a few days, but they were able to set Ian up with an appointment. He hadn’t wanted anyone to go with him, but both Mickey and Lip had caused such a scene that he had finally relented and said he would take Mandy. When they got back, Ian didn’t say anything; instead he brushed by them all and went upstairs, slamming the door. They all looked at Mandy, who quietly filled them in on what the doctor had said.

Out of everyone, Mickey was the only one surprised by the diagnosis. He wasn’t even sure he knew what Bipolar meant. He had some vague memory of Ian mentioning it in a passing conversation about Monica, but he had no idea it could be hereditary. 

“Is Ian going to slash his wrists at Thanksgiving now?” Carl asked, a look of concern flashing over his face. Mickey’s blood ran cold at the thought.

“No,” Lip said, wrapping his arm around Debbie who had started to cry. “This doesn’t mean he is Monica. We’re not going to let that happen. We’re going to help him.”

“How?” Debbie asked through tears; she looked at Mickey, who shifted uncomfortably. He felt Mandy’s eyes bore into him, but he ignored her. 

If the little redhead thought he would know what to do, expected him to be a knight in shining armor like some fucking fairy tale, she was sorely mistaken. He was out of his element. He shook his head as Lip said, “I don’t know, but we will.”

 

Ian didn’t come out of his room for the rest of the night, and none of them bothered him. “Give him some time,” Mandy had said. Instead, Mickey ,Mandy and Lip drank in the kitchen, while Debbie and Carl whispered in the living room, their words inaudible over the movie Liam was watching. 

Mickey hadn’t said a single word in hours; his mind was too full of all the warning signs he should have seen, beating himself up over all of the ways he had contributed to Ian’s mental state. Lip and Mandy were as equally as quiet, both of them no doubt thinking the same thing, but neither of them had fucked Ian up the way he had.

“You need to call Fiona,” Mandy said. 

“Fuck her,” Lip said. 

“You can be as mad as you want over what happened to Liam, or for fucking up again, but this isn’t on her, and she deserves to know,” Mandy said. She put her hand on Lip’s and Mickey looked away. He didn’t understand how Mandy could have so much compassion, care so much about someone who fucked her over; after all, they had been raised by the same man and Mickey couldn’t even bring himself to say anything. Mickey smashed his cigarette into the ashtray and stood up.

“Mickey,” Mandy said quietly. He heard the question in his name.

“I’m fine,” he said. He took a final sip of his beer and headed upstairs, ignoring Lip’s protests. They had all been too busy feeling sorry for themselves over Ian’s diagnosis, worried about how it would affect them, instead of worrying about what was going through Ian’s mind. 

 

He opened the door slowly; Ian was lying on the bed, his back to the door. “I knew you would be the first to come up,” he said, his voice low and muffled. 

“Yeah, well, there is a fine limit to the amount of time I can spend with Lip before I consider murder,” he replied as he sat facing Ian on the bed by Ian’s feet. Ian laughed, but it sounded hallow. Ian rolled over and sat up, bringing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. They stared at each other for what felt like an hour before Mickey broke the silence with a pathetic “So…”

“You should go home Mickey,” Ian said sadly.

“What?”

“Go home to your wife, your kid,” Ian said. “There’s nothing for you here.”

“What are you talking about? There’s nothing for me at home if you’re here,” Mickey said. He didn’t even regret the words as they poured out of his mouth; it was the truth, and it was about time he told Ian the truth.

“I’m fucked up Mick,” Ian said.

“Well we’re all fucked up Gallagher. Leave it to you to find a way to more fucked up than the rest of us. Always have to feel special,” Mickey said, and he saw a hint of a smile on Ian’s lips before it disappeared. 

“This is serious,” Ian said.

“I know,” Mickey said, wishing he had never opened his mouth.

“I’m turning into my mother,” Ian said.

“No, you’re not.”

“You can’t just deny it. She’s bipolar and look what happened to her,” Ian said. 

“You told me yourself that Monica didn’t take care of herself. If you think that your siblings are going to let that happen to you than you’re an idiot,” Mickey said. “Plus, Mandy said the doctor is going to prescribe you some pills.”

“Medication doesn’t always help.”

“Well there’s therapy,” Mickey said, even though he knew what the redhead would say before he said it.

“Gallagher’s don’t do therapy,” Ian said, as expected. 

“What the fuck are you trying to do? Are you trying to push me away? After three years, now is when you choose to push me away?” Mickey stopped. He was making this about himself again and Ian didn’t deserve that. “If you really want me to go, than I’ll leave. I’m just trying to help.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“Shouldn’t what?”

“Try to help me,” Ian said.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” Ian said. “It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“Complicated. Do you really want to be with someone so fucked up? With everything else in your life, do you really want to waste your time trying to save me? What if you can’t fix me?”

“What makes you think I want to, or would be able to, fix you? I know I’m not the solution to your problems, just like you’re not mine.”

“Then what’s the point?” Ian asked and Mickey laughed.

“You aren’t crazy Ian, you’re just stupid. Look, if you’re looking for someone to save you than you should look elsewhere. It’s up to you to save yourself; I can’t do that for you, only you can. The best I can fucking do is promise to be here and to help you in anyway that I can,” Mickey said, taking a breath. Ian stretched his legs out on the bed as far as they could go until his feet were touching Mickey’s legs. 

They were silent, their eyes speaking for them, before Ian nodded his head and said, “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Mickey said, and the hint of the smile played on Ian’s lips again. “And I do promise you that, by the way.”

“I know,” Ian said, grabbing hold of Mickey’s hand. They sat like that for a long time, staring at each other, the weight of the moment settling around them before Ian spoke again. “You know, that’s all I ever really wanted Mick. For us to be there for each other.” 

“I’m sorry it took me so long to understand that. But I’m here now,” Mickey said, gently squeezing Ian’s freckled hand. “For as long as you want me, I’m here.”


End file.
